


Four

by sleazy_c



Series: Lokir of Rorikstead [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Canon Compliant, Exhaustion, Sickness, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleazy_c/pseuds/sleazy_c
Summary: The Khajiit, looking for rest.
Series: Lokir of Rorikstead [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1582192
Kudos: 10





	Four

The Khajiit breathed out a sigh of relief once she could make out the walls of Whiterun to the west. Over half the journey to Ivarstead had been spent in a haze of intoxication, and the other half had been uneventful (aside from the frost troll that assaulted her on the steps to High Hrothgar). The return journey, however, involved far more encounters with bears and wolves than she would have preferred, and she had felt bone break fever set in the previous night. With no potions to cure her disease, only a few restless hours of sleep, and Mirmulnir's muttering presence ever in the back of her mind, the last stretch of her trip to Whiterun had felt like torture. As soon as she crossed through those gates, though, she knew she could purchase a room in The Bannered Mare, get a potion of cure disease, and finally report to the Jarl.

The most important of these to her, at that moment, was the room at The Bannered Mare. The Khajiit wanted nothing more than to break into a sprint and charge into the inn as soon as possible, but the sickness tired her to the point where she could hardly maintain her stable walking pace, and the aching of her head made even that pace feel like every step was a strike to her brain. The Greybeards had sent her on a journey to retrieve the horn of their founder, though she insisted on a few days of recovery from that first journey before the commencement of the next. The Khajiit had never had so many responsibilities in all of her life as she'd had the past week. She was already tired of the excitement, but she knew instinctively that there was only more to come. 

As she crossed the short bridge leading towards Honningbrew Meadery, and the hum of a nearby nirnroot emphasized the pulsing in her head. Before she passed Honningbrew, though, she stopped, eyeing the many barrels outside of meadery. Twilight was quickly approaching, and she saw no guards nearby. Slinking closer, she peered into one of the barrels, noting the abundance of mead bottles stacked inside. She looked around her, again seeing no one. Several moments passed. She sighed, resigned to her weakness, and grabbed five of them, tucking them into her pack. Another quick glance was cast about, and then she moved back onto the road towards Whiterun, her sickness-weak back muscles groaning at the extra weight, even considering how light it was. The light reflecting off of the moon Masser hurt her eyes.

Another hour found her finally shoving open the doors of The Bannered Mare. Her muscles, as if knowing she was finally within grasping distance of rest, had started aching tenfold. She muttered her way through the purchasing of a room, and groaned aloud as she trudged up the stairs. A large Nord woman in a corner audibly scoffed at her display of weakness, but the Khajiit couldn’t have cared less at that point. When she dropped onto the bed, dust flew from her clothes, and she could have wept in relief at being off her feet. She stripped herself of her clothes, uncaring of the possibility of someone entering, and shoved them in her pack to clean at a later time, pulling out three of the mead bottles before closing her pack.

The Khajiit used the last of her strength reserves to burrow beneath the covers. She uncorked the first of the bottles, and immediately drank it to completion. Mead dripped down her chin and soaking in the fur on her chest, and she belched loudly before reaching for the second bottle, uncorking it and taking a swig. Her eyelids had already begun drooping, and her exhaustion, the soothing music from the bard downstairs, and the alcohol all pulled her into sleep before she could have a second sip. The bottle slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor on its bottom. It was the first instance of luck the Khajiit had experienced in a long time, and she wasn’t even awake to see it.

//

It was the second time that week that the Khajiit awoke not knowing the date. This occurrence, though, was not at the hand of a drug binge, which was a step up. After collapsing into a rented bed at The Bannered Mare, the Khajiit slept for a consecutive fifteen hours (a feat she had never before accomplished). She didn’t great, due to the bone break fever that continued to ravish her energy, but she felt leagues better than she had.

Pushing herself up, she slid from the bed. She looked at the bed, noticing how the sheets had hardly moved, which was the strongest indicator of how hard she had slept. She then noticed the bottle by the bed, with not a drop spilled. The Khajiit giggled, for the first time (while sober) in months. After a big stretch, she rummaged through her pack for some clean clothes, finding her robe from the witch’s cabin, and pulled it on. She grimaced at the feeling of it against her mud-matted fur, then removed it so she could wash herself in the basin before replacing it, this time far more comfortable. 

Once she gathered everything, mead bottles re-corked and replaced in her back, she ventured out of The Bannered Mare, immediately finding the sign for an apothecary. The alchemist Arcadia, after misdiagnosing her with ataxia, happily provided her with the means to cure her sickness, and by the time the Khajiit made it to the entrance of Dragonsreach, she felt her fever breaking. 

Still, she hesitated at the door.

The thought occurred to her again: she had never had so much responsibility in her life as she had now. Responsibility placed upon her by Nords, of all people. Nords had hardly even trusted her prior to her escape from Helgen, and now they seem eager to place their trust and lives, and the lives of others, in her hands. The Khajiit had never felt so depended upon, and she wasn't exactly sure that she liked the feeling. That bone-deep urge to run made her feet itch. She looked to the sky, and let out a long breath.

"Lokir, give me strength."

The Khajiit entered Dragonsreach.


End file.
